


Whirr and Click

by GhostwriterSyo



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Blood, F/M, Mental Instability, Multiple Personalities, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sociopathy, Spoilers for Chapter 2, Syo kinda inadvertently manipulating Fukawa, psychopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostwriterSyo/pseuds/GhostwriterSyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which one of Fukawa's psychology classmates starts paying attention to her.<br/>A little <i>too</i> much attention.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Whirr and Click

Your name is Fukawa Touko and you're not quite sure how you got into this position- kneeling anxiously at a low table in some, some stranger's house, instead of working on your latest novel that so desperately needs revisions and entire re-drafts and god forbid that chapter you hacked out last night was just _dreadful_. Sharp bites of pain remind you to unclench your fists from under the table, and instead you turn your efforts to inspecting your fingernails. The house is quiet- eerily so; the ceiling fan provides the only real sense of life in the room, quietly shuffling some loose slips of paper on the desk behind you.

Most of your thoughts are dwelling on why you bothered coming to Ishi-kun's house in the first place. You've barely known Naoji Ishi for a year; he just transferred to your school and only recently started appearing in more and more of the classes you were taking. Stupid of you, really, to even bother with a reply when he started talking to you. You'd think that he had dirty intentions, being yet another member of the horde of adolescents who have no thoughts in their heads save for those of instant gratification, but who would think such things about a girl as absolutely hideous as yourself? No, he probably saw you like everyone else did- sitting by yourself during lunchtime, your only company your softly glowing laptop and ever-present foreboding aura. He probably just wanted to mock you like the rest of them. Vitriolic bitterness begins to rise in your throat.

Just as you gather the resolve to leave before he can start jeering at you, the door to the bedroom opens with a swish that lurches you out of your reverie.

“I..Ishi-kun!”

“Sorry I took so long with the tea! I'm not really used to making it myself,” he replies with a quiet laugh.

You give a mumble of acknowledgment after a couple seconds' pause. Who doesn't know how to make tea? It's literally boiling water. The most basic of basic tasks. You would be giving him a deprecating look right now if you were actually making eye contact.

The boy sets the silver tea-tray down on the table with a flourish and with quick, breezy steps takes a place opposite you-  
 _as far from me as possible_  
and immediately starts speaking, because obviously you are not the social butterfly in the room. You still really don't even know why you're here in the first place, save for the oh-so informative and not-cliche “I want to get to know you better” he gave you this afternoon. As he talks, you stare at the cup in your hands.

“So, I've heard you're a writer! You must be busy a lot of the time-”

“ _Wh-Why_ did you invite me over here?” you interrupt. Small talk is time wasted; you can't afford to lose any more with this imbecile. You already lose enough when- when _she_ -

“It must be hard being both a student and a novelist! I imagine you're tired a lot, huh?,” he continues, completely ignoring you. You feel your face contort into a grimace and you grip your cup harder. People only listen to you when your words are written on paperbacks, and even then the only reason people managed to pick up your books in the first place is because they can't see the author, you, otherwise no-one would have bothered.

Naoji Ishi continues talking but you don't continue listening to him; his words aren't important but not as unimportant as yours, of course, but then there's a pause, and you hear a little click and a whirring sound under the table.

“What...what was that?”

“I asked if you ever wake up in strange places- if you find yourself falling asleep in public often? Having strange dreams?”

“Eh?”

Your mind goes blank and empty, sterile with panic- the implications of his words were clear.

He adds some comment afterward but you don't hear it, that quiet laugh of his audible only as muffled gurgles in the screeching television snow that is your consciousness. Your mind struggles past the interference to reach a single thought, _how, HOW does he know about that_ \- but no, more important than that, much more important-

_**What** does he know_

“.....and I noticed you tend to leave a lot in the middle of class, after sneezing, sometimes. And then I noticed you tend to fall asleep sometimes, too, but you always hurry out after-”  
The small weight on your thigh you stopped bothering to remove seems to have grown a thousand times heavier. You desperately try to remember how many pairs of scissors were in there this morning; if there are enough for her to...to....

“I thought that was because you were busy, but I know you're a diligent student; at least, that's what all the teachers I asked said. Then I started connecting everything, and...”

“ _C-connecting what?_ ”

“Oh, I apologize for bringing you here under false pretenses, Fukawa-san. But technically, I wasn't lying! I really would like to get to know you better,” he proclaims cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the atmosphere the room has taken- or intentionally ignoring it. Suddenly Ishi-kun is directly to her left, _Did he move earlier?_ , and is holding a canister of- something.......

Which is unceremoniously thrown in your face

Panic overwhelms you once more as you remember the familiar scent of pepper; you quickly stop your breathing but too late, it's already in your system. You clap both hands over your mouth in a futile effort to prolong the sneezing and jolt up, off of the ground- you need to make it to the door- you need to leave the room before SHE finds out where you are, in a boy's bedroom of all places-

_How stupid could you BE to just walk into this-_  


But the door can't quite be opened wide enough without your hands and tremors wrack your frame, pressed up against the frame, your mind turning blank in a different way this time. As your vision fades, the last thing you see is that same, stupid, almost apologetic smirk on his face, and the tape recorder that was under the table making that same infernal _whirrrr_ in his hands.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Your name is Genocider Syo and you have no idea how Touko-chan managed to get you into such a _prime_ position! She's usually much to gloomy to attract any boys, much less ones like _these_! And already in the bedroom, no less!

You pick yourself up off the floor with an enthusiastic grin. “Good job, Touko-chan! Great job!” you screech to no-one in particular. Of course, she can't hear you. That would ruin all your fun, for sure, having such a gloomy girl murmuring complaints when you're just trying to have a good time.

The boy stands up to match you, still on the other side of the room. The door directly behind you lets a thin, chill draft of air in the room, so you slam it shut and turn the lock with a loud _click_. Was that lousy girl trying to escape? Poor, spineless Touko-chan! You'll never get a guy like that!

“Uhh....hello! My name is Ishi. Naoji Ishi!” he stammers, glancing at the recently-locked door behind you.

The introduction is so unexpected that you let out a sharp, short laugh. He jumps a little bit, how cute! You got a shy one!

“That's new! No one's ever tried to introduce themselves to me before! It's always, 'Fukawa-san, why are you doing this, what did I do, stop, why, why, why!!!,” you mimic your last crush in a whiny voice, and the impression is so spot-on that you can't help but let out another few barks of laughter. He takes a half-step backwards but quickly regains his footing.

But now that you get a chance to look him over...you realize you recognize this boy. “Ahhh, you're the cutie that followed me last week! How bold!” He tried to tail you on your way out of a class one day- Touko must have fallen asleep from boredom or something- and the whole scene was so utterly _uninspiring_ that you had to go find some entertainment for yourself, as usual. Of course, he wasn't very good at following you.

“You're no good at being a detective but you're pretty cute! I'll let that make up for it,” you add, swiping your lips with your tongue. His face turns a bit paler and he gulps nervously. He seems as if he is about to say something but you interrupt quickly-

“But I would like to know! How did you know I was here in the first place?” You notice the tape recorder on the table as he is forming his thoughts and stammering out something incomprehensible and probably boring. You eye him knowingly.

“Oohh, Ji-kun, a voyeur! How shameful!” you coo. “Ordinarily I would be into that kinda stuff, but....” You let a pause creep into your speech as you slowly advance towards the now-uncomfortable-looking boy. When you're close enough, you swipe the tape recorder off the table. He dives to save it, but you quickly crush it underneath your heel with a loud series of cracks before he can reach. “I think that would pose some problems for both of us!”

“Oh, us as in Touko-chan and I, not us as in me and you. You're not gonna have any problems at all in a couple of minutes! GYAHAHAHEHEEE!”

Ishi-kun sends a quick, longing glance to where the remnants of the tape recorder rested before suddenly skittering backwards and hitting the wall with a dull thud. It seems he's finally caught on to what you've been saying! Good for him.

“Wait! I'm just a scientist- an observer! You don't have to worry, I'm not going to tell anyone about...about, uh...your situation,” he interjects, with a strange, soft, almost sympathetic-sounding emphasis on the last word. “So you don't have to do anything to me, Miss...u-uhh.....”

“Syo!”

His forced smile falters slightly.

“Syo......as in...”

“Genocider Syo!”

You're always surprised at how fast a face can change.

“Ehhh, were you expecting something else? Another lame stick-in-the-mud like Touko-chan? People with split personalities are supposed to have two reaaaaly different personas most of the time, right? You'd think that a scientist or psychologist or whatever you are would know that!”

By now you're barely three feet away from him so you slow your advance, looking down at his pitiful attempt to merge himself with the wall. His eyes are glued to your face.

“You were expecting some cheerful, brainless, harmless angel to suddenly reveal itself, weren't you? Sorry to dash your expectations! But don't worry!,” you murmur reassuringly, eyes running along the contours of his body, “I'm sure I can get us feeling better in no time, heheheeee!”

Now you're down at his level, crouching so close that you can feel his rapid breathing warming your face. You would be smirking if you had bothered to put your tongue back in your mouth. You run your hand across his jawbone- of course he flinches but he still never takes his eyes off of yours. Your other hand slowly works towards your skirt, pulling up the fabric _slooowly_ , but surely; don't want him to notice what you're doing....not yet.

“Ji-kun! Your skin is soooo soft!,” you purr enthusiastically. “I wonder what you look like underneath?”

“nnnnNNNN?!”

You feel your hand finally reach metal so you dart in to pin him against the wall, but somehow he slithers to the side, out of your arms. He leaps towards the door but you twist around and manage to catch his ankle mid-bound, and his head hits the side of a chair with a sharp thunk. He doesn't seem to register the pain and desperately reaches for the exit anyway, your hand still grasping to his leg.

“And _where_ ,” you hiss slowly, “do you think _you're going_ , huh? We've barely even started!”

You pull the boy back towards you as he makes breathy little wheezing noises and claws at the carpet.

“P-p-please don't be angry! I was just! I was j-just!”

“Just?”

“T-t-t-t-trying to!”

“You really should stop stuttering; you sound just like Touko-chan, you know that? It's really unattractive. Just like Touko-chan!” You laugh at the joke you made for a while, your increasingly louder guffaws mixing with Ishi-kun's muffled sobs. Eventually you get bored of laughing and slither on top of him, pressing your body to his back. His shaky hands grasp the carpet under him, making slight popping noises as some fibers come loose from the ground, and you notice he's stopped his breathing.

“Ohh, getting excited, are we?” you murmur into his ear. He shivers violently. “Well, I'm not one to keep the guys waiting!”

You take the two pairs of scissors you managed to grab out of your holster and twirl them around in your fingers, making little clicks and whirring noises like such tiny chirping birds.

His face is pressed into the carpet- “That's no good! You can't see all the hard work I've put into these babies if you're like that!” -so you grab his hair and force him to look at you and the gleaming metal you've brought in close to his face. Your eyes gleam along with them.

“Look, look!,” you tell him, but although there's nothing else in his field of vision but you and the scissors he still has a distant look in his eyes.

Venom starts to boil inside you and you plunge the scissors into the carpet next to him, earning a terrified squeak from the boy.

“That's rude, you know! Really rude!,” you caw disdainfully, harshly grabbing his shoulders and flipping him over to face you. You lean back and put your hands on his shoulders, squeezing his sides with your thighs- not enough to hurt, of course, but _juuust_ enough so that he can't catch his breath-

“You have _no idea_ how long it took to make these, do you? I'm going to have to teach you some manners!” you add, dropping down to a sultry note and flashing your winning smile. He starts gasping for air as he catches a glimpse of your super-trendy scissors from the news reports.

You notice a trickle of blood that's down his forehead from where he cracked his head. You lean in and lick the trail off of him, running your tongue along the contours of his face from the neck upwards. His gasping just intensifies, though, and the noise is starting to grate on your nerves, so you harshly press your lips against his-

-and he starts gagging, spluttering inside your mouth and oh, god, that is _such_ a turn-on! You reach for the scissors you plunged into the carpet and extract one like a tack on a corkboard, shooting your tongue further into his mouth.

You try to prolong the excitement for as long as you can, but it's been a couple days since your last fling and it's hard to hold it in. After a couple of seconds he starts sobbing again and making little pained noises, and that's it, you can't take it anymore! So you roughly grab one of his forearms with your free hand and throw it against the floor, pinning it down with your body weight, and you draw the scissors close.

He spasms on the ground, trying to buck you off of him, but you've got his other arm pinned with your legs and the movements are just grinding his hipbone up against where it matters most on you. Your face heats up, and with a loud moan, you sloooowly work the point of the blade into his hand, working through muscle and tendons and gliding across bone. He howls and screams and bucks harder, and you reciprocate, circling your shiny scissors slowly in his flesh, skipping slightly when you glance bone and stopping only when you feel the less-familiar texture of the floor underneath. Blood wells up in his palms and spills to the floor, glinting like your precious scissors.

Excitedly, desperately, you move to his other arm, but as you're shifting your weight the slippery boy works his arm free and flings it out to the floor beside him. He grasps something- _eh?_ \- and throws it in your direction, squeezing his eyes shut in desperation. Before you're able to dodge, the tin hits the side of your face and you breathe in a cloud of spice.

“ _ **...god FUCKING DAMNIT!**_ ”you scream as you clutch at the remaining pair of scissors on the ground, but before you can plunge them into his little, ungrateful neck, you jerk and snort, and Genocider Syo is unwillingly dragged back into the dark.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

….you'renotlookingathishandyou'renotlookingatityoucan'tseeit

You woke up to find yourself on a struggling, terrified, definitively-not-dead-but-badly-injured Naoji Ishi, who was currently occupied sobbing out cracked pleas to no one in particular. One hand was clawing at the floor underneath him while the other...

….youcan'tseehishandyoucan'tyoucan'tyou _can't_ otherwise _ **she-!**_

With a keening noise, you scrabble backwards off of his spasming body and prop yourself against the desk. Although you're not looking at the...the _scene_ , the dank metal smell is overpowering, as if you can taste it, and the flush in your system abruptly starts to sicken you, so you run to the bathroom attached to Ishi-kun's room and lock the door behind you.

His wailing becomes louder once you're out of sight; you abstractly wonder if he's thought you've left as you clutch the bowl of the toilet, dry heaving because there's nothing in your system left to spew.

And then it dawns on you, you _can't_ leave, because there's a witness in the room next door, ready to spill his guts to whomever will listen. And sure, they might not believe him at first, but then he'll show them his hand, and the scissors that were left in it, and it will become abruptly obvious that he is not lying and Fukawa Touko is, in fact, Genocider Syo.

“ _NO! I'm NOT HER! I'M NOT A MANIAC LIKE HER!_ ” you scream in your thoughts, pulling at your hair, but you know that they won't believe it. You can see the headlines now, your name posted in every throwaway tabloid on the market, fingers pointing at you from every direction. 

You need to get rid of him.

As you open the door a gust of air hits you; it seems the ceiling fan is still circulating, unperturbed, high above the sad mess about to take place below. Ishi-kun has curled up around his injured hand. You're not sure if he's gotten it... _extracted_ from the floorboards yet. At least his body is hiding the view from you. The single pair of scissors you've hidden up your sleeve feels like ice against your bare skin.

As soon as your first step hits the floor the boy snaps his head towards you and stares, like a deer caught in headlights, like a kid who got caught stealing from the cookie jar but the punishment is the electric chair. You take another step and he pulls himself backwards, apparently forgetting that his hand is still pinned to the floor- but he jerks his arm against it and wrenches the tool up, pain unimportant in the face of the monster who had nearly killed him five minutes prior.

“I, Ishi-kun! It's not her, it's me, Ishi-kun! Fukawa!,” you continue, trying your best to sound reassuring, not looking at the blood puddle left on the floor. His face pulls downwards when he hears your name and he lets a sharp sob escape his throat.

You take another step towards him and he pushes himself backwards as far as he can go; the pictures on the wall clatter when he slams into the corner. He curls up into a ball again, cradling his injured hand, staring, horrified. You're used to people being disgusted by you by now but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt anymore, and this is the first time someone's been _afraid_ of you.

When he starts making a low, curdling, desperate noise you start to lose your nerve- it would be so much easier to let _her_ take care of this, this is what she _does_ , anyway- but no, you can't! You're not going to lose to her! She's not going to get what she wants! Not this time!

Your teeth grind together but you keep the same placid smile on your lips.

“I....I'm sorry, Ishi-kun. But you see, I, I, I c-c-can't, uhh...” Your smile twitches as you realize your words aren't coming out right again; you don't have enough time to think about them like you do when you're writing. _Come on, Fukawa! This is a lot more humane than letting her do this! Stop stalling and get it over with!_

You squeeze your eyes shut and furrow your brow. _I can do this! I can do this!_ Summoning all the willpower you have, you flick out the accursed instrument into your palm and clutch it in both your jittering hands, turning the point forwards like some timorous defender of justice.

“ **I can't! _LET HER WIN!_** ” you scream, and ram yourself against him, plunging the steel up, into his neck. You hope you hit something important. A slimy warmth start to drip down your fingers, down your arms, into your soul. Ishi-kun splutters and some drops of red hit your glasses; he's clawing at you but it's too weak, too late to push you away. He tries to speak, to scream, to make some form of noise but the only thing that's coming out is a gurgling fountain of red.

A clammy hand sneaks under your glasses, grasping for purchase, and suddenly the stench of gore rolls over you, wet and grimy and unclean. You shove him away but there's nowhere for him to go, so instead the force sends you stumbling backwards. Your glasses are torn from your face and you hear a quiet, tinkling noise like broken glass.

You can't see that well now that your glasses are gone but you don't need to, not anymore; you can tell that your arms are a different color now, a blurry, crimson mess. These aren't your hands, not your arms; this is _her_ domain you've stepped into, and you lost yourself when you crossed the threshold. You thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be more tolerable for Naoji Ishi to die a quick death by your hand, but now you see that he probably couldn't even tell the difference, and now, neither can you.

The red starts dripping off your arms, reminding you it's still there. You claw at them, at the red, at these arms that are no longer yours, but like an oil slick the color clings to you. More thick, putrid blood just wells up to take its' place. You wail softly, at first, but it grows as you fully realize what a mistake you've made, what you've done-

“u...u-UGYAAAA _AAAAAAAA **AAAAAAAAAAAA-!**_ ”

“ _See, we're not so different, you and I,_ ” you hear a slimy voice whisper in your ear, and even as your vision fades the red doesn't leave your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooo if ya liked it tell me so in the comments!  
> Also tell me if you didn't!  
> Feedback is wonderful (⊙‿⊙✿)
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://www.pyrallight.tumblr.com/)


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